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Sweet creature, sweet creature
When I run out of road, you bring me home
Bucky Barnes was in a considerable amount of pain. The gunshot wound should have killed him—or rendered him unconscious at the very least. But it didn't. He was a super solider after all, it would take more than a bullet to the shoulder to take him out.
What was meant to be a simple recon expedition had turned out to be an ambush. Sam had a minor concussion and even Natasha was limping back onto the quinjet. Bucky took the worst of it though—a bullet tearing through his skin and leaving him with a blood soaked tactical suit.
Steve insists he needs to go to Med Bay. Tries to convince him to do so as the jet lands back at the Avengers compound.
"M'fine," Bucky mutters, gritting his teeth as he hops down from the jet. Trying not to wince in front of Steve and failing miserably.
"You're not fine!" Steve retorts, gesturing to the wound on Bucky's shoulder that was still bleeding. "Buck—you need to—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know," Bucky mutters, though he isn't listening. He never does when he's hurt. Too focused on wanting to find you.
Steve can see it in his face. The way Bucky was holding himself. His hands—both flesh and vibranium—were clenched. Jaw tense. His blue eyes already darting around the roof for a sign of you.
Nobody was more surprised than Bucky that you two had fallen in love.
You—the girl with soft hands who could heal someone even on the brink of death and him—the guy that everyone seemed to be afraid of. The guy no one seemed to trust. But it happened.
You fell first. Finding yourself in the gym the same times as he was, always looking for him in every room you entered and even swapping seats with Natasha at dinners so you could sit next to him. Bucky was oblivious at first—who could blame him? He hadn't had much experience with women since the 40s. And being as emotionally unavailable as he was, he really hadn't expected for someone like you to fall for him. But when Sam mentioned to him that he had overheard you and Natasha talking about him—Bucky started to put the pieces together. Started to look at you differently. And when did he? Boy, did Bucky fall fast.
He couldn't help it. You were the warmth he had been chasing. The light he needed in the darkness. He took the chance. Asked you out. Kissed you before dessert arrived.
It had been six months since then and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes was happy. At times, it scared how happy he was. How safe he felt. How your warm body next to his was better than any medicine, any drug he had tried.
And so—when he was hurt all he wanted was you.
Bucky ignores the others concerns. He ignores Steve and Sam scolding him for not going to Med Bay. Because Bucky? Bucky was heading straight for you.
∘₊ ☆──────☆₊∘
You hummed to yourself as you tided your bookshelf. Since Bucky and the others weren't due back until later in the evening from the recon mission, you had decided to rearrange your bookshelf. Since a lot of your free time was taken up by Bucky (which you weren't complaining about) you had let your bookshelf become messy and unorganised.
Just as you glanced away from your shelves to catch the movie you had put on as background noise (Love, Rosie—because of course you chose a romance movie while not having Bucky grumbling under his breath about it) there's a loud knock on your door.
You knew that knock. The sound of metal against wood was unmistakeable. You feel that familiar fluttering deep in your stomach that only your boyfriend could make you feel.
"Coming!" You call out, throwing the book in your hands onto the floor with little care. Because Bucky was back.
But when you finally throw open the door and see Bucky—his top half covered in blood—that fluttering disappears.
"Bucky—what on earth—"
"M'good," he tells you gently, ducking down to kiss your cheek with a shuddering breath.
"Buck, you're bleeding," you say, voice gentle as your hands find his. Leading him into your room and shutting the down.
"What gave it away?" He murmurs with a rumble of laughter as he lets you guide him over to your bed.
Your eyes flicker up to meet his, a thoroughly unimpressed look on your face. "Not funny," you chastise him, your hands already working at unfastening his tactical suit.
Bucky laughs again—his hands finding your hips. Squeezing the flesh there gently beneath your shirt. "Doll, I'm bleeding out. You really think now is the time to—"
"I'm trying to look at your wound," you snap, smacking his hands away from you—though the warmth of your cheeks gave away the effect his words had on you. Who could blame you? Your boyfriend was unfairly attractive.
You manage to peel off the top part of his tactical suit—Bucky hissing as the blood sticks his skin to the material. When the air hits the wounds he groans and you gasp as you look down at the bullet hole.
"Jesus—Bucky! Is that—" you gently turn him around to look the back of his shoulder—the exit wound there unmistakable and leaving you without any doubt what had happened on that mission. "Baby—did you get shot?!"
Bucky grits his teeth, his vibranium hand fisting at your sheets. You hear it tear but you're too concerned about him to care right now. "Yeah, s'nothing."
"Nothing?!" You repeat, hands shaking as you inspect the wound. "Bucky, a bullet wound isn't nothing. You need to go to Med Bay, I'm serious—"
"No," Bucky interrupts you—eyes blazing and flesh hand reaching up to grab your wrist. "(y/n), you know I can't do that."
You look back at him—your hands shaking because you know he couldn't. Bucky hated the touch of strangers, especially doctors. Couldn't handle it. It reminded him too much of being back in the HYRDA facility. Of pain—of being made to do things he didn't want to. Of people treating him like a pawn.
"But Buck—you—need help," you say quietly, your free hand finding his and gripping it. "You might be a super solider but you can still get an infection. You could still—"
You cut yourself off, looking away from him and feeling the emotion bubble up in your throat. The thought of losing Bucky—well, you couldn't handle it. You had lost a lot of peopleaapeople who had thought your abilities were dangerous. Who didn't trust you. Who had used your abilities against you and left you without a second thought. You couldn't lose Bucky too.
Bucky sees it—the devastating look on your face. The fear of abandonment and he knows you're right—he can't be selfish right now. Not with you.
"Then you heal me," he murmurs, gripping your hand in his. In the six months you had been together, you had never healed him. Not that he didn't trust you—he did. More than anything. But he hadn't wanted to use you. Not like others had in the past. He wanted you to know all he wanted was you—not your powers or your abilities—but you.
"You're sure?" You ask gently, eyes shining as you glance down at the bloody wound, your hand trembling in his. "Buck—please say you're sure—"
"I'm sure," Bucky cuts in before you could breathe another word, his hand guiding yours to rest over his wound. "Baby, you know I trust you."
"Lay back," you tell him gently.
He does so without hesitation.
You swallow and nod as you look away from him, your focus entirely on his wound. His blood beginning to seep onto your fingers. A final look at his face—at the look of pure love, devotion and trust in his eyes—and you press down.
The effect is immediate. Bucky groans as a warm, golden light emits from your palms. It's warm. It's so warm. It's so warm that for a second, it's overwhelming for him. The heat. The light. Bucky almost pushes your hand away. But he doesn't. Because one look into your eyes and he's ignoring the way he can almost feel his flesh sewing itself back together.
You couldn't look away from him. Your eyes on his and your hands shaking as you put all your energy on healing his wound. The trust he had in you—it was somehow even more intimate than making love to him. You knew what he had been through—knew what this meant for him to trust you like this.
"You're doing so good," you tell him gently.
Bucky tries not to groan at the praise. The corners of your mouth twitched.
"Doll, now is not the time," he groans, his hand covering yours. Feeling the energy coursing through you. Feeling the warmth of the golden light through your fingers. "Later."
"Shut up," you tell him with a reluctant smile, eyes shining as you look at him. "You're out of action for a week, tops."
"A week?" Bucky grumbles as you gently lift your palm to look at his wound to discover it had sealed itself. You breathe a little easier. You gently release his hand, trailing your fingers over his skin until you find the exit wound on the back of his shoulder. "Doll, I can't last a week without being between your legs—"
"James," you admonish him, your face warm as you press your hand down on his exit wound. He groans again and grits his teeth as he feels that warmth again. "A week, tops."
He knows you're lying through your teeth. Knows he'll find home in you in a couple days time. But for now, he lets you heal him.
It's quiet when you lift your hand again, the golden glow vanishing. Your palm still warm and thrumming with energy as you inspect the wounds.
"Okay," you breathe out, fingers brushing over the scar now etched into his skin. "You're okay."
Bucky breathes deeply—rubbing his hands over his face as he allows himself to relax. Something he only ever truly did around you.
"You okay?" You ask him gently. "It wasn't too much or—"
"No," he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup your face. "You're never too much for me."
You smile gently at him, unable to stop yourself. This soft side of Bucky was one that only you had ever seen. One you cherished.
"If you're trying to seduce me, it's not going to work," you tell him, ducking your head down to kiss the scar on his shoulder.
"I would never," he murmurs back. "Just want a kiss."
You pull away from his shoulder, eyes narrowing at him.
"Just one?"
"Just one."
You don't believe him, not even for a second but you can't resist your boyfriend for long. You lean over him, dipping your head down to brush your lips against his.
Bucky reacts, instantly. He kisses you back. Soft. Gentle. Everything he thought he would never be with someone after HYRDA. But the way you melt into him makes him feel like someone worth loving.
You pull away before it could escalate—because Bucky's hand moving to cup the back of your neck was the biggest indicator that your super solider boyfriend was not going to wait a week before partaking in any strenuous activity (because truthfully, he couldn't last a day without you).
"C'mon," you murmur, placing a final, chaste kiss on his lips before you sit up. "Lets find Steve and let him know you're okay."
Bucky groans—actually groans like a perpetual child—his hands chasing your hips as you stand up.
"(y/n)—"
"No," you say, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet. "A week."
Bucky looks down at you—biting the inside of his cheek as though trying not to laugh. "Fine," he says finally, glancing down at your bed—where the sheet was torn from his vibranium hand and stained with specks of his blood on. "Suppose I don't want to ruin your sheets anymore."
You flush at his words but you're smiling—because it was impossible not to smile around him. Even now.
"You'll manage," you tell him as you rifle through your drawers to grab him a fresh t—shirt and sweatpants. You turn away as he pulls them on, because you were worried you wouldn't be able to resist your boyfriend if you saw him in just his boxers right now.
After he dresses, he stands behind you. His hands finding your hips, his breath hot against your ear.
"Still going to wait a week?" He murmurs, a shiver going down your spine.
You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering a little before you turn your head to look at him. "Keep bringing it up and I'll wait two."
Bucky rolls his eyes but relents because the threat of two weeks of not having you? Well, it was a different kind of torture.
"Fine," he breathes, using his hands to spin you around to face him. "Just one more kiss."
"James—"
"(y/n)—"
"Fine. One more."
Bucky doesn't hesitate—ducking his head down and finding your lips with ease. Smiling against your lips as you return the kiss—your hands cupping his face, his squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against yours.
He's so difficult to resist. Like temptation craved into a six foot super solider with a metal arm and blue eyes that you wanted to drown in. But you know you had to.
You're the one to pull away. He lets you—always trusting you. Always.
"So—a week?" He murmurs with a wry smile on his face.
"A week," you echo quietly.
"You know I will wait forever for you," Bucky tells you. "But a week I can do."
"You're full of it, Barnes," you say, smiling.
"You bring me home, baby," Bucky states simply, giving your hips a final squeeze. "Now, let's go before I change my mind."